


it goes a little bit deeper

by néohs (bangin_patchouli)



Series: disconnections and abstruse seventh heavens [1]
Category: EXO (Band), SHINee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Barebacking, Car Sex, Eventual Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, M/M, Not Happy, Smut, just all those things, taekai - Freeform, the fluff is very minor if any at all I'm sorry, too much angst imo lmfao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 19:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16165397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bangin_patchouli/pseuds/n%C3%A9ohs
Summary: and taemin watches jongin breathe. he watches the air drag in and out as jongin revels darkly in the words that he said, the words that he meant. taemin watches, and the skin under the waistband of jongin's pants is warm beneath his fingers.





	it goes a little bit deeper

**Author's Note:**

> this is.. regrettably something i've been working on for far too long, considering the quality of it. i hope you can make something out of it.

     “again, jongin?” taemin utters, sliding roughly through the uncomfortably small open open door of jongin’s silver audi. the cold of the passenger seat leather seeps icily through his jeans, and the only thing that distracts taemin from that unpleasant feeling is the feeling of jongin’s dire being just to his left.

     “really, we already met once this week,” taemin says, this time less meaningfully. the sound of breath filling his ears isn’t even his own, and the flush on jongin’s cheeks isn’t because it’s cold outside.

     “i know, i  _ know _ ,” jongin hums, and the words are barely a whisper. “i just- i had to see you.. again.” jongin pauses again. taemin’s hand finds his way over the console, and the slick polyester of jongin’s sweats feels much better under taemin’s palm than the rough of his own ripped jeans.

     “it’s like i can’t help it.”

     taemin takes the time equal to a long look of double sided silence to assess the way in which he wants to spit the phrase he  _ oh _ -so-wants to spit. he takes his time, sitting quietly and evaluating the tilt of jongin’s head toward the window, his eyes that, after all his efforts in bringing taemin to him, can’t even find mutuality in taemin’s eyes, his fingers, white-knuckled, around the icy leather of his steering wheel, the total candor of his neck, the want for which it openly displays, the want that wholeheartedly entails taemin’s lips planting their strike right where he knows it feels the best.

     “so, you wanted to see me,” taemin says, almost regretfully, “or you want to fuck.”

     the lack of answer fills the space in jongin’s spotless car, and taemin, fighting uselessly against every warning bell in his mind, finds it in his insane will to inch his fingers closer and closer to the inner side of jongin’s thigh. jongin throws his head back, as if the frustration in his chest mimics the feeling of taemin’s mouth finding every sensitive spot on the map that is jongin’s body, and the sound of the impact is muted in favor of the tantalizing sight of jongin staring hopelessly up at the roof of the car, lip bitten brutally between his teeth.

     taemin is jongin's trailblazer, the forerunner of jongin's abstruse seventh heaven, and he loves to hate it,  _ hates _ to love  _ every _ moment of it.

     “don’t do this,” jongin pleads, and as taemin's hand stills its dangerous, forthright movement, jongin's body loses its pent-up tension. taemin watches as he melts, right into the seat, eyes closed, and god _ damn _ it, what is he  _ doing _ here? why did he answer jongin's call in the first place? why would he choose to shove himself down this hole of hiding and wanting and screaming and shouting and  _ wishing _ that it didn't have to hurt, but it does. maybe it’s the seclusion to which he’s attracted, where he can touch jongin, feel him, make him gasp, make him groan, feel the softness of his lips and break the softness of the skin on his hips. maybe it’s there, where jongin's hand unzipping his jeans feels better than any nirvana that anything else could ever provide, but- he could get that anywhere. the feeling of a mouth wrapped around his cock is easy to find, costs thirty bucks just around the corner. so why does he keep coming back? jongin's half-lidded irises tell him something he doesn't want to know. 

     “why not,” taemin mumbles the words of a question, but he isn't really asking. taemin straightens, disrupting the silence with the sound of tight, moaning leather. jongin turns toward him with trembling speed; dark hair shelters his burning eyes, and the piercing feeling of jongin's fingers on his forearm stops taemin's breath harshly in his throat.

     “because i don't fucking  _ know _ , taem,” jongin growls, sinking again. “i don't know.”

     and it comes out as quiet as a whimper. taemin feels sympathy melt into his veins then, and swallows the heavy question that writhes the confines of his throat. a crushed sigh falls from his lips instead. the animate street outside of the protection of the car moves, unaware of and unconcerned with anything but itself, and taemin watches jongin breathe. he watches the air drag in and out as jongin revels darkly in the words that he said, the words that he meant. taemin watches, and the skin under the waistband of jongin's pants is warm beneath his fingers.

     “drive,” taemin says, and the engine takes a breath below them when jongin turns the keys into the ignition. the misty lights that litter the city blink through the windows in bocha,  maneuvering just half a second behind.

     the lights are bright, but jongin is brighter. jongin is louder, jongin is prettier, jongin is more, and taemin wants  _ all _ of him. jongin's eyes are on the road, empty now, and out of those unfocused eyes, angst-ridden desire drips like tears, tainted with the fact that  _ they shouldn’t _ . the tilt of jongin's head opens up his neck like a trap. taemin's travels the horizon of his arm, tense, gripping onto the steering wheel tight enough to shake, blue and purple veins like tendrils of adrenaline beneath his hot skin. taemin drops his eyes farther, not to his own lap but jongin’s, to where his hand lies in a prowl atop jongin's taut thigh, leisurely, as if it were meant to be there. unbound by protection, even at the speed jongin drives, dangerously, taemin turns in his seat and slides his hand in dim exhilaration up, up, and over, over jongin's hipbone, over that exposed skin, feeling the goosebumps there that haven't arisen because it’s cold. then they glide under into the warmth of jongin's shirt, on the naked skin of his waist, and under his fingers, jongin takes a tense breath and doesn't let it out. sideways, in his seat and in his smile, taemin replaces the warmth he took from the inside of jongin's thigh again, and relishes ruefully in the whine that rattles in the depths of jongin's throat.

     and taemin burns. lust burns dark red in the very pit of his stomach, built up impossibly in a span of long lonely days. but it isn't just his cock, twitching bothersome in his underwear; his chest burns furiously inside his chest, the flame of his confusion flickering violently in time with the rapid beat of his racing heart. the anger settles on his shoulders like a hold that he can't shake off, a hold that keeps him up at night, keeps him coming back to jongin's car, jongin's studio, jongin's apartment, back to  _ jongin _ . the resentment fuels the sex, and the sex explodes between the both of them every fucking time, and taemin doesn't even think hell hurts worse. the blackness of public isolation encloses around jongin's car, around the both of them as taemin wickedly palms jongin through his sweats; the grey shadow of a looming building, a long emptied parking garage fades in from the shadows. as taemin just barely grazes his hand over the length of jongin's clothes cock, jongin's breath hitches bittersweetly in his tense chest, and taemin murmurs,

     “pull in here.”

     the garage swallows them whole like the mouth of a menacing monster, hungry. the only life inside the building is the clever movement of taemin's wrist and jongin's heavy, wet respiration. the second story comes quickly, and the far lights of the city look shamefully at them through the windows carved into the cement wall.

     “where,” jongin whispers on his exhale, the tension that swims beneath his skin audible in his breath.

     taemin rises, knee digging into the hard leather seat. smoothly, his hand flickers to the back of jongin's neck, and jongin's hair brushes like electricity on taemin's nose when he leans in and whispers breathily,

     “wherever you want.”

     the car halts to a stop, roughly, right where it rumbles. jongin jerks, just so, and taemin's hands return lower. his lips come alive where they are, next to jongin's ear, and the skin of the latter’s neck tastes like salt under taemin's tongue. he feels the vibration of jongin's voice in his teeth, doesn't hear or comprehend the words as every cell in his body urges him to take the purple bite he leaves on jongin's jugular.

     taemin feels scattering hands at the collar of his shirt, warm on his chest, and he closes his eyes in the scent of jongin's hair, burning in the feeling of jongin's collarbone beneath his lips, warm and hard. the carnality pushes him faster, leaving a messy wake of broken kisses from the hollow of jongin's throat, over his jaw, to his lips, always soft, always gentle against even the coldest of bites. taemin feels jongin's body rise below him, and his hand shoots back to his favorite place; he can feel the heat spreading between jongin's thighs by the second. taemin's hand presses, and his tongue flicks over jongin's lips, and the word, moaned, that slips from jongin's mouth falls right into taemin's, unheard. the only thing that taemin can hear is his own gasping breaths mingling with jongin's , the resistant pulse in his ears, and the voice in his head begging him not to stop. jongin's hand tugging once, twice on the front of his v-neck, though, catches his attention, and he separates from jongin's lips with a wet sound. 

     “what,” taemin murmurs, feeling jongin's breath fan across the heat of his cheeks. jongin blinks, eyes so visibly blurry they look grey in the white hot light of the fire burning in the tiny space between them. “what is it?”

     “backseat,” jongin utters, and taemin hears the metallic jingle of keys to his right before they muffle. he recalls just moments ago, as the engine falls asleep.  _ wherever you want, _ and he climbs away from jongin to open the door and let the desolate cold cover his fervent skin. standing, he breathes in, once, deep, and lets it out. the moon covers him in iridescence, white but cold, opposing taemin in every way, and he knows he’s about to ruin himself in the form of fucking jongin in the backseat of this car.

     the moon, in all its fullness, all its made-up purity, shames taemin once more, and he brushes it off with an angry flare of his nostrils; how can she claim to be so clean when the infinite collection of all she’s seen replays in the minds of everyone that strays below her light? taemin opens the back passenger door to jongin's car.

     “would you just fucking get in the car?” taemin dictates at a mutter, hand atop the cold metal of the car roof as he swings himself inside before jongin can get a word in. taemin always thinks it better if words don't exist between them, words that don't matter at any rate.

     heat overtakes him again, and taemin finds his hands in a rough grip on jongin's waist, finds his fingertips firm, controlling. the insides of jongin's thighs feel better than good on either side of taemin's hips. with two fingers, taemin draws jongin's face closer to his own, breath halted in waiting words that lie in the back of his throat. jongin's breaths linger in taemin's senses; overdrive laughs in wait at the back of taemin's mind. he stifles the growl of frustration that wants to take its place on jongin's skin.

     “look,” taemin whispers, fingers tracing a line down from jongin's lips, to his chin, along his jaw, the side of his entrancingly bare neck, the dip of his clavicle, to toy with a stiff nipple through the thin material of jongin's t-shirt. 

     “i’m looking,” jongin breathes, visibly feigning confidence, and taemin has to laugh. 

     “shut up, listen,” taemin mutters, relishing in the instant obedience, “i’m going to fuck you, and then you’re not going to call me again, got it?”

     to show that he does get it, but doesn't agree, jongin shifts his gaze to peer out the dark window, and his fingers tighten atop taemin's shoulders, ruffling the fabric there. taemin is aware, rather painfully, of the harshness that his words hold, can see them grated across jongin's cheek as if he’d slapped him. 

     “it’s what’s best,” taemin coaxes, hushing his voice onto the exposed skin of jongin's upper chest and hushing jongin away from what he doesn't want to face. “for both of us.”

     taemin feels jongin lean his head back slightly, openly, simultaneously feels him giving in, and he chooses to ignore the forced pain of  _ this is the last time you will be with him _ as it creeps into the confines of his chest; his fingers lift the hem of jongin's shirt, and his hands pull it up and slip it off. the sound of it quietly slapping the leather on which it lands doesn't register in taemin's ears over the louder sound of jongin's uneven voice under his tongue.

     “i promise,” taemin sighs against jongin's lips, and he twists his thumbs into the waistband of jongin's pants. jongin hoists himself up, hovering over taemin as he lets the latter shove them off. taemin thinks jongin is stupid for not wearing underwear in january, but he appreciates the lack of it nonetheless. he halfheartedly moves jongin to his side, enjoying the heated feeling of his unbreaking gaze as he all but quickly tears off his own clothes. the metal of his belt as it clangs against the hard black plastic of the door is mere background noise to taemin when he essentially corners jongin against the back of the conjoined seats, lowering himself into the spacious cavity below him.

     taemin takes his time purposely, sliding his hands up jongin's lithe thighs. he looks with hooded eyes through his fringe up at jongin, pleased to see that the younger’s bottom lip is already bitten tight between his teeth, more so on one side than the other. the visual alone is all it takes to motivate taemin's tongue out of his mouth, this time to land too lightly on the tip of jongin's hard cock. under his hands as they glide up to grip jongin's slim hips in place, he feels the simplicite shock of the touch send jongin rigid. 

     “please,” jongin stammers.

     the closed grin on taemin's lips splits wide when he opens his mouth to fit to fit most of jongin's dick inside. it elicits a beautiful, high-pitched sound from jongin's throat, and taemin forces himself to ignore his own erection as it rubs almost uncomfortably at his inner thigh. he licks a strip down the side of jongin's cock, being sure to make a show of it. jongin reaches his hands out to twist half-painfully into the bleached strands of taemin's lengthy hair. he tangles it into his fingers to jerk taemin's head back, and taemin lets him because he likes stinging sensation it sends.

     he encloses his lips around jongin's cock again and hums low in his throat. jongin is seconds, breaths away from bucking his hips up, involuntarily taemin knows, and he gratingly pushes jongin back down against the black leather, slowly taking jongin's cock into his mouth and onto the back of his throat again and again; he’s never going to get rid of, over, used to the taste. taemin flicks his tongue, once slowly, trailing his fingers ever so lightly up the inside of jongin's thigh, feeling the goosebumps rise, and jongin's hands grip tightly onto the leather of the seat beneath him; taemin would swear a whimper boils in the back of jongin's throat as the younger tilts his head up, eyes screwed shut, toward the ceiling. taemin flits his tongue again, this time fast. a moan fights out of jongin's mouth, and he throws himself forward in a sharp motion. his hands land flat on top of taemin's head, and taemin would find it rather cute if he wasn’t quite literally giving jongin a blowjob in this very moment.

     “stop,” jongin says, and taemin thinks his brain is tricking him into hearing the word come out as a tantalizing whimper. “i wanna come when you fuck me.”

     and that’s enough for taemin, all he needed to hear to snap him so far out of it that he comes back in, one hundred times harder. he comes up from the floorboards, shoving himself between jongin’s already spread legs, hands sliding from the top of jongin's legs, up his chest, damp with accumulated sweat, to harshly cup his jaw, forcing him to bare his neck. taemin's teeth vehemently bite at jongin's throat again, this time the blooming of a bruise unquestionable. jongin's arms come to wrap around taemin's neck while taemin's other hand coils around jongin's waist, partially lifting the latter up, closer to him, and another off-color noise burns out of jongin's mouth, streams right into taemin's ear and flips yet another switch taemin didn't even know he had. 

     “okay,” taemin flashes against jongin’s almost bloody lips, “i’ll fuck you, then.”

    taemin's hands find their respective places on the lean fat of jongin’s ass and on the underside of his knee, hiking it over his own shoulder and aligning himself up to jongin’s entrance. he thrusts down into jongin’s heat with the force of the anger he can’t help but show and swallows the short cry of initial pain that shoots from jongin’s mouth with his own. when jongin’s fingers loosen their cutting grip on taemin's bare shoulders and his damp hair shifts as he nods, their movement matches up with the speed of taemin's chaotic rumination.

     and they fuck. taemin wishes that every part of him wanted to call it  _ just fucking _ , but the feeling of jongin around him, warm and involuntarily susceptible, the resonation of jongin’s mendicant tone echoing taemin’s sensitive ears, the burning sapor of jongin’s sweat under his tongue as he drags it hungrily up jongin’s chest, draws him in like a trap of stability so foreign to taemin that he shoves it away in solicitude created by the upbringing he can't forget. but they are fucking, again, like they’ve fucked one million times before, except it isn't like every other time. taemin drives into jongin over and over, the noise of harsh skin-on-skin resounding off jongin’s car roof, anew, but streams glisten like stars in a bronze sky on jongin's face in the dark. jongin does not look into taemin’s eyes, not that he ever did before, but now, he stares upward, and taemin watches, as he moves into jongin, jostling them both roughly, the twinkling tears pool in the rim of jongin’s wide eyes, then fall down his cheeks into the stream that swims downward evermore, into the dip of jongin’s throat. 

     acrimony rises in taemin's mouth,, and he tries to swallow it when jongin's chest begins to bump against his at a pace far too fast. jongin’s legs drop, and he reaches forward, squirming against the discomfort with a whimper as taemin persists. incense begins to smoke again inside taemin’s rib cage when the sound of jongin’s sobs break into his ears and the movement of them sends jongin’s arms messily around taemin's neck. jongin's obscene noises blend with his heartbroken ones like chemistry, a sadistic mixture that freezes taemin into a half dissociative solution, and he subconsciously runs his hands to the safe place of jongin's waist. jongin's soft fingers grip to taemin's nape, and taemin asks huskily,

     “what’s the matter?”

     jongin's elbows lock, and into taemin's ear, muffled, he whispers,

     “nothing, don't stop.”

     taemin doesn't stop. he doesn't take jongin's riposte to heart, either, and thrusting up into jongin has never felt so contradictory. the pit below taemin's stomach begins to burn pleasantly, but the painfully gaping hole in his chest can't seem to stop growing.

     “coming, i’m going to,” jongin breathes against the side of taemin’s sticky neck, and taemin hardly fights against the angeringly delicate impulse to soothingly run his hands up and down jongin's tensed waist as he fucks into him, another inconsistency piling up onto taemin’s regrettably large collection. 

     “go ahead,” taemin murmurs into the trembling kisses he’s trailing down the side of jongin's collar.

     jongin comes, shaking to his core against taemin’s abdomen, and taemin really wishes he’d never fucking met him. surreptitious adoration climbs its way through his veins, when before it wouldn’t even stare off from a distance. still rigid with the lack of release, taemin holds jongin against him, the alien feeling of this situation eating him alive, afraid to move.

     “finish,” jongin mumbles, “i want you to.”

     looking out the window before him, up into the disappointed night sky, taemin stabs his lip between his teeth and urges into jongin once, twice more. he comes with a faded light flashing behind his eyelids and the feeling of his orgasm being covered up with the animalistically violent attack of remorse that courses alongside the familiar sensation of pleasure he shouldn’t feel. 

     he falls back, arms around jongin in a way that he hopes jongin won’t think about late into the night when he wonders why taemin doesn't call him anymore, and the leather isn't cold against taemin's bare skin.  _ go, leave him _ , taemin screams to himself from the chaotically dismal pits of his own mind, and in lieu he raises his hand to brush away the sweaty strands of jongin's hair that stick to his forehead. he keeps digging the hole of attachment, letting the bonds link themselves to him, too hazed to cut the forming ties. he can do that later, when the silence of solitude strangles him for waiting too long, when the pain has had time to pile up. jongin’s eyes, half-lidded and dull, swollen with the tears neither of them will talk about, gaze up to taemin from where the former rests his head against taemin's chest, and taemin trails his hand down jongin's spine.

     “let me drive you home.”

 

     when taemin gets the call, after he fucks himself over for holding onto the painfully misleading idea that is jongin, after he’s already resolved to staring at his ceiling in hopes that it’ll open up and all the answer will fall from its cavity, the words that crackle through the other line hardly make sense in his misted mind. jongin's voice mutters right against the speaker, and taemin sits up to hold his phone closer.

     “jongin, hold on,” he fists his hand into the sheets, hoping that he didn't just hear what he thought he did. “say that again?”

     “i said,” jongin says in a long drawn breath, and taemin hears him hold it over the line. taemin’s own breath pauses in his chest with physical empathy he didn't know he had.

     “jongin, please.”

     “i said, he’s going to kill me.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i literally can't believe the fact that i wrote the majority of this in school, approximately five entire months ago. being myself, i finished the last of it in one sitting about three hours ago listening to fucking... slipknot and lana del ray. that probably captured the essence, if not.. uhh sucks. i hope this didn't entirely suck.
> 
> please share this if you liked it, that would mean the world to me, thank you.


End file.
